


52 Seconds

by prozacplease



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Bladder Control, Bodily Fluids, Desperation, Dirty Talk, HYDRA Trash Party, Homophobic Language, Kink Exploration, Kink Shaming, M/M, Omorashi, Urination, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/pseuds/prozacplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is into some weird stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	52 Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Just when I thought I couldn't sink any lower, I go and write this.

The Stanley Cup Finals are on and Jack invites Brock over to watch. Jack orders the pizza and Brock brings the 24-pack of cheap beer from the sketchy corner store where the cashier is behind bulletproof glass.

Jack doesn’t give a shit about hockey, but he needs an excuse to have Brock over. Brock shows up looking particularly mean in dark jeans and a Rangers t-shirt that has seen better days. Jack spends more time watching Brock than the TV. Brock pretends to not notice, body sprawled on the couch in a subconscious show of male dominance as he slams back beers. His body language dares Jack to make a move.

They eat and drink and talk shit while they half-watch the match. It might be a date, but they’re not gay. The fact that someone’s dick is going to end up in someone’s ass tonight is inconsequential to them.

Brock’s high tolerance means that he’s not exactly drunk when he stands from the couch and announces that he has to take a leak. He was on the verge of needing to go when he showed up and several beers—in combination with his own laziness—have only exacerbated the problem. The call of nature is now a battering ram splintering a doorframe.

The look on Brock’s face is priceless when Jack blocks the door to the bathroom. Normally Brock would just shove past his friend, but Jack's body is big and broad and quite literally fills the entire doorway.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” Brock asks, scowl darkened with a hint of desperation.

“I don’t think you have permission to use the facilities,” Jack says simply.

“I’ll soak you if you don’t get out of my way,” Brock says. “Move.”

Jack just smirks. If only Brock knew how much he’d love that. Brock is more infuriated by Jack's silence than a snappy comeback. He shoves at Jack, but the man doesn’t move. His chest might as well be cinderblock wall.

"C'mon, man. I really gotta piss," Brock says.

Jack knows he’s running the risk of experiencing one of Brock’s one-hit knockouts, but he can’t help himself. He watches as the funny little vein in Brock’s temple starts to throb. It’s adorable.

“Say the magic word,” he taunts.

“I have to say _please_ to use your fuckin’ bathroom?”

Jack nods solemnly, somehow keeping a straight face as Brock nearly has a coronary. Brock’s desperation is the only thing that prevents him from tearing Jack to pieces. He will after he pisses, he tells himself.

“Can I _please_ use your bathroom?” Brock spits.

Jack considers making Brock ask again, except nicer this time. Instead, he pauses for a moment before moving aside. Brock elbows him as he takes the few short steps over to the toilet. He is so consumed with the need to urinate that he doesn't notice Jack moving in from behind. He is fumbling with his fly when he feels Jack place his hands on his hips.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brock snarls, struggling to get away. “I told you, I have to go.”

"Gonna help," Jack says, licking a stripe up the back of Brock's neck. The skin there is salty and the hair at the nape of his neck is short and freshly buzzed, tickling Jack's tongue.

"You—You get off on this?" Brock splutters.

“Yeah, you all frantic to piss gets me real hot,” Jack says.

Brock is desperate to open up his fly, whip out his cock, and relieve himself. But he's so utterly shocked by the realization that Jack is into _watersports_ that he is momentarily frozen. Jack wraps his densely muscled arms around Brock's torso and gives him a squeeze that a python would be proud of.

"You didn't figure that out when I asked you to pee on me in the shower the other day?" he asks, turning his head to nibble on the cartilaginous crest of Brock's ear. "This is payback for not doing me a solid."

"I'm gonna piss myself, Jack. Please."

"Go. I'm not stopping you."

"You're gonna watch me? You’re fucking sick—"

Jack slips a hand down the center of Brock's torso, rubbing his tense stomach for a moment before pressing firmly against his lower abdomen. Jack's fingertips create a whole new level of urgency and stabbing pain just above Brock's crotch.

Brock howls, blindly thrashing to get away and nearly wetting himself in the process. The pressure and the need is immense. Brock cracks. He can't take it. He yanks open his fly and pulls his cock out—which has never been more flaccid—and aims like usual. He has to go so badly but nothing is happening. Not with Jack touching him and watching so intently.

"I can't go like this," Brock practically wails. He squirms and only succeeds in grinding his ass against Jack's crotch. The stiff bulge he feels there lets him know that his friend is enjoying this thoroughly.

"Yes, you can," Jack says, kissing Brock's shoulder. "Just relax."

Brock gives a derisive snort. There's no relaxing.

"We're over. We're fucking done, you faggot," Brock grits out. "You hear me?"

"Gonna fuck you nice and rough after this," Jack says, voice low as he peppers Brock's sweaty neck with kisses. "Just the way you like it. Promise, baby. C'mon, just lemme watch you take a long piss."

Jack's dirty talk does nothing to arouse Brock or entice him to cooperate. But pressing harder on his belly does. Brock cries out when he finally starts to urinate, a strong and noisy flow that hurts like hell. It actually feels like it's being forced out of him. He doesn't notice Jack looking at his watch to time it.

Brock's bladder is cramping and the pain is making it hard to enjoy the increasing relief he's feeling. His face is burning hot with embarrassment, but he can’t deny that it _does_ feel good.

"Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhffuck," Brock moans, feeling a little weak in the knees.

Jack maintains the pressure on Brock's abdomen, using his big palm to massage the area now. He really can't believe just how much Brock has inside him. This knowledge both fascinates and arouses Jack as he watches. No wonder Brock was so frantic.

"Wow, almost 40 seconds," Jack comments, looking at his watch again.

Brock just groans in response. Timing a piss for the purposes of arousal is a whole new level of fetishism for Brock and his mind can’t process it. He just plain doesn’t get it, but he’s in no position to resist. He’s already participating, albeit unwillingly. The dwindling stream of urine is minutely disrupted when Jack begins to dry hump Brock’s ass. He’s still kissing his tanned neck, still mouthing along his shoulder.

When Brock’s spasming bladder is finally empty, Jack pats his belly. “Fifty-two seconds,” he says, sounding impressed as he runs a warm, heavy hand up and down Brock’s torso.

Brock is wincing and says nothing in response. His pubic area aches but he feels immensely relieved. Relaxed. He’s beyond the point of humiliation and lets himself lean back a little against Jack. The taller man senses this small sign of submission and squeezes Brock tighter, ready to make good on his promise.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.prozacplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥  
> 


End file.
